Between the Lines
by Voice of the Shadow Realm
Summary: A place to put all the bits that don't fit into my main fictions. Shorts and sorts, involving Renji the easiest guy to pimp off in the whole Bleach series. A variety of pairings, both romantic and not across the multitude of ratings (higher rated chaps will be stated in the AN where applicable.)


**Authors Note:**

Just a short piece, a long drabble, depicting the time between being admitted for healing and before Ichigo heads back to the world of the living. I was always kinda miffed over Toushiro's coldness toward Momo while she was in the infirmary and felt she needed a source of comfort.

Frayed.

Behind the grey hued boundaries and tucked safely within the walls of the Fourth division's healing barracks, cool gunmetal eyes swept over the ruin and watched as the still able bodied officers scurried about the internal city. Wordless as they busied themselves with clearing away debris from the streets, the residual evidence of battles past and carefully rebuilding damaged division quarters. Even with the distance to his sickbed he could read clearly the fear in their eyes as they ducked silently past former friends and comrades, refusing to even nod in greeting or meet another's gaze, the depth of Aizen's betrayal along with the willingness of the other two captains to follow him had damaged the very structure of the squads; the lower officers' faith in their leaders, in their peers, had been distorted.

It was wrong, the lifelessness that wasn't spoken of and the hopelessness that was willed away despite the unwillingness to actively banish it. It was wrong that even the purity of the sekkiseki had been dulled and tarnished in those days in the aftermath. Something within the very heart of Soul Society had gone terribly wrong and the Seireitei was silently voicing its distress. The ethereal glow and lustre of the soul rock was lost, much alike the once indomitable spirits of the inhabitants who dwelled within. The powerful symbolism that Seireitei walls, once boasting impenetrable strength, had been damaged and stained, even the dawns warm and comforting caresses unable to soothe away the shadowed sting of painful memories or the chilled darkness of fear of further hurt. Golden light slid over the solidity of the damage, walls coated by a hollowed translucent glow before moving on and leaving a dingey grey instead of the usual shining white in its wake. The bleakness that clung to every last surface, every still living being, told all the world of its injuries and indignities suffered. In its silence and sealed gates, the former fortress spoke of an outrage and betrayal far more clearly than crumbling walls or battle cries ever could.

His brow furrowed, chin lowered to inspect his interlaced fingers as he considered this tangent born of a single man's actions. A soldier _needs _to trust in his superior. A soldier _needs_ to know that in battle, he can show his back to his comrades as he engages the enemy without the fear of a Zanpakutou biting through the flesh between his shoulders. And every soldier _had_ known of this truth, until Aizen displayed just how much damage the brutal actions of former comrades could reap, pitting captain against captain, captain against lieutenant and finally soldier against soldier in his merciless manipulation, and subsequently undoing what multiple millennia and countless generations had accomplished in his one single attack on his own.

Raven locks tumbled over the crisp white yukata like spilled ink as he returned to his watching of the men and women outside, observing as a crumbling wall was deftly stripped of its damaged sandstone blocks and whole ones were slid into the holes, returning to the structure its strength. Lashes slid over his steely gaze and he drew a cleansing breath, there were many more broken structures to rebuild within these walls, and not all consisted of simply replacing brick. Trust was far more fragile once compromised; it took plenty of patience to repair even the smallest fissure, but to completely reconstruct an almost demolition of trust throughout the thousands of soldiers would require scores of time.

And time was a luxury not within their grasp.

* * *

"Captain."

Toushiro Hitsugaya, child prodigy and captain of division ten in the Gotei thirteen, paused in his thoughts as Unohana, captain of fourth, called to him softly; snow-capped head turning only enough that his face still remained obscured and the tautness of his lips remained shrouded in shadow. The glittering shards of turquoise, light and cold, slid to the very edge of his peripheral vision. Every movement calculated and precise, every expression chilled and guarded as the master of ice watched the gentle voiced woman beckon him into a cool and dark room, seeming to glide toward the prone figure laying deathly still, tucked beneath blankets upon the bed between them.

A flinch of the pupils, a twitch of white lashes as the boy lowered his gaze to the girl barely clinging to life. The turquoise sheen deepened, warmed as he recalled his history with her. How they'd play in the dusty streets, the tenderness in her delicate fingers as they cleaned and bound a scraped knee and swept his tears away, how those same fingers had felt gently combing through his pale locks as he snuggled closer to her warmth in the little hut that had belonged to their elderly care-giver. A history shared between them alone that warmed his heart and lowered his guard.

"She's been waiting, waiting for someone who knows her better than I to sit with her and to speak with her." Her thick lashes fluttered lightly as her calm eyes took in the injured young woman as she struggled to breathe under the mask that covered her mouth and nose.

The softening light in Toushiro's eyes hardened then and he lowered his chin so that long bangs of white glided over his forehead, shielding his hooded gaze in their shadows once more. It hurt him to know that Momo, his Momo, wasn't the one who lay there barely clasping to life. It was the Momo that _he_ had built her into. It hurt him more knowing that his Momo was gone, perhaps forever, and it was the doings of her own Captain -a man to whom everyone had respected and sought wisdom from- who had banished her warmth, broken her to the point that she was here-but-not-here and confined in the infirmary hidden deep in the barracks of the fourth division.

The man who had destroyed her so completely, so deeply, was her Captain, her mentor. He, who had been charged with safe guarding her, had toyed with her thoughts; warping her ability of independent thought and conditioned her to his own use, and then had run her through without hesitation, his sword skewering through flesh, muscle and organs alike.

Lashes squeezed tightly over his icy scowl as he threw his guard back up even as scalding tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He had failed her. He had allowed Momo to be used as a tool and tossed aside as soon as her usefulness had ended. And when he had attempted to defend her, she had turned her blade against him in despair and confusion…

… and he _hated_ her for it.

He blinked rapidly, refusing to cry here and for her. "Unfortunately," the young captain began, his voice straining as his heart chilled and shattered as he forced the words over his lips. "I have nothing that I wish to say to her."

Unohana raised her eyes sharply as Toushiro's cloak fluttered from view around the corner of the room and his footsteps echoed in the deserted corridor. Breathing a gentle sigh the matronly captain turned back to the fragile lieutenant tucked beneath a light blanket. "Yes, you do. And she needs your forgiveness." She sighed quietly as she carefully swept a sweat soaked twist of dark brown from her patient's temple, enveloping the delicate pieces of the shattered reiatsu that fluttered within the tiny woman's broken spirit with the healing warmth of her own and coaxing them together gently. "And you do hers."

"So, she doin' okay?"

Startled by the unexpected gruff voice, the gentle captain turned and was greeted by the sight of the somewhat battered lieutenant of the sixth. "Lieutenant Abarai, you should still be resting. You yourself have been terribly wounded."

Renji raised his still bandaged arm to his face for inspection, scowl in place even as his fingers traced over the heavy gauze that bound more severe injuries elsewhere, lips twisting to the tenderness of his touch. Lowered lids tightened momentarily as his exploring digits skimmed flesh and sinew that, though still split, was swiftly knitting together again.

"Yeah, kinda got that." He growled, somewhat irritable with his own slow recovery before he quickly turned his attention back to the tiny woman who lay deathly still beneath the blankets. "Y'think she'll recover?" The usually rough tone to his voice had softened considerably as he watched Momo's shallow breaths carefully.

"She is no longer in any imminent danger, however how completely she will heal and how swiftly, that is up to her." Unohana murmured quietly, almost as though reassuring herself. "Although, I do feel that if she felt a comforting presence of someone she knows, she may find it in herself to fight a little harder and recover more fully and quickly."

Renji's eyes flickered to the side with the female captain's own, though she simply gazed with pity while he found himself openly scowling at the hallway in which he had observed the ice captain leave by and snorted a breath. _Li'l punk needs his ass kicked, Captain or not._ "Well, seein' as I'm stuck 'ere fer now, I guess I could spare a few an' sit with her a while." He half limped around the bed, ignoring the deep throb in his side, also a gift of the former fifth Captain's steel, and dragged a visitor chair closer. The legs squealed their protest at his man-handling and Momo's neatly arched brows drew closer for an instant but quickly relaxed again as the brute of a man released his grasp and flopped heavily down into it.

Unohana offered him a small smile. "I am surprised, Abarai-kun," her lilting voice teased as the former gutter rat arched an inked brow at her in unmasked skepticism. "I was certain that you would find others far closer to yourself than lieutenant Hinamori to visit."

Another snort followed by a derisive 'keh' as he closed his eyes and gave a knowing smirk. "Momo an' me an' Iz'ru, we go back some. Got some stories that'd make Momo redder 'n my hair." Bracing his foot against the bed frame, Renji tipped his chair back a little, leaning his head back to give the motherly captain an upside down crooked grin, "Y'said she needs a frien'ly voice or somethin' to make her fight harder? Thinkin' maybe I might fit that requirement." He paused and let his seat drop back onto all four legs, winced a little as the abrupt landing jarred his still tender body and silently glad that he now presented Unohana with the back of his head so he could hide the sudden misery in his eyes as he carefully slid his fingers into the limply curled ones of the unconscious Momo. "'sides, Rukia n' the Captain have domestics to straighten out, n' Kurosaki'll be headin' back on over the other side soon enough. 's better if it's jus' them without my grouchy, hurtin' ass doggin' em, y'know?"

Renji's throat tightened around the sudden lump in his throat and dropped his gaze from the warmth of Unohana's, embarrassed by the whiny complaint that had leapt from his lips without his meaning to, but the healing captain's mouth simply curved gently as though witnessing Renji's moment of unguardedness and his following discomfort.

"I must make my rounds now, lieutenant. I shall return before the evening meals are delivered and I ask that you to return to your own quarters by that time for I must remind you, you are also still recovering and under my care until I see fit to discharge you."

"Yes ma'am."

Quiet, punctuated only by the sounds of the machinery that crowded the other side of the bed, filled the void as Captain Unohana vacated the room, leaving Renji to simply sit, looking at but not really seeing the frail looking girl under the covers as he muddled through the events that had led them here, with half of the captains and lieutenants either drowning their miseries after the desertion of some of their own or licking their wounds inflicted as the parting gifts of the very same culprits. Without thought or meaning to, he curled his fingers tighter around Momo's.

And, to his surprise, he felt hers flex momentarily tightening in his grasp.


End file.
